Prophet's wait

Isaiah 35: 1-10, Psalm 146: 5-10, Luke 1: 47-55, James 5:7-10, Matthew 11:2-11

Today is for the prophets. We hear first from the prophet of the old testament, from Isaiah. But we don't get the fire and brimstone preacher today, we get hope and promise.

Isaiah 35:1 The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad, the desert shall rejoice and blossom; like the crocus 2 it shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice with joy and singing. The glory of Lebanon shall be given to it, the majesty of Carmel and Sharon. They shall see the glory of the LORD, the majesty of our God.

The Psalm today is one of praise and thanksgiving. And from John we hear Mary's prophetic song of God's triumph through the Son she carried in her womb. Even John the Baptist has reason to rejoice, locked in his prison cell. For he hears, in Isaiah's own words the fulfillment of the promise God made to his people long before.

God is coming, God is come, God has come. Mary sings of God's triumph while the child she carries is still unborn. Isaiah shows us the kingdom of heaven as if it has already come in his time. It is a day for promise but there's an edge to that promise:

James 5:10 As an example of suffering and patience, beloved, take the prophets who spoke in the name of the Lord.

In the midst of all this joy and excitement there is this reminder of what a prophet's life is usually like. In the midst of the glory and joy of God's triumph here, now, and throughout eternity, we are reminded that God's triumph doesn't mean an easy road for those who herald it.

When John heard the good news he was locked away in prison, soon to be executed. The young churches to whom James wrote faced hardship and persecution. Mary sings a song of praise and triumph but goes home to face the scorn of her neighbors and friends and then gives birth in a rude stable with no one but her betrothed to help her. And Isaiah, legend has it, was sawed in two. It is a dangerous and frightening thing to live for God. God pushes those who give themselves to God to the edge. In the biblical tradition God literally drives them out into the wilderness. He pushes them beyond the bounds of safety and into the thin places where they may meet God, but where there is also danger and uncertainty.

"Aslan a man? Certainly not. I tell you he is the King of the wood and the son of the great Emperor-beyond-the Sea. Don't you know who is the King of Beasts? Aslan is a lion-- the Lion, the great Lion."

"Ooh!" said Susan. "I'd thought he was a man. Is he--quite safe? I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion."

"That you will, dearie, and make no mistake," said Mrs. Beaver, "if there's anyone who can appear before Aslan without their knees knocking, they're either braver than most or else just silly."

"Then he isn't safe?" said Lucy.

"Safe?" said Mr. Beaver. "Don't you hear what Mrs. Beaver tells you? Who said anything about being safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good. He's the King, I tell you." - The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

God is far from "safe." Those who lived closest, those who listened to Her voice in the utter stillness, found and find this out. To be a prophet was, and is, to live at all times at the edge. And yet without that danger, without a willingness to go into the thin places, to trust ourselves to this most dangerous and good God there would be no Good News.

The good news of God is no safer than God's self. It is wild, and unconstrained. It is love without the safety of logic and reason. It drives us out of the safe order of our lives and into the chaos of God, into the crazy promise of a love already, now, not yet. It immerses us in the wild joy of the Magnificat, that says while the seed is still in the ground that the harvest is plentiful.

Prophets are rarely welcome. They usually make us uncomfortable, and when they don't we aren't really listening. In Isaiah's time, in John the Baptist's time, in our time. The prophet listens to God's demand that we rise up from our couches and our banquet halls and our carefully guarded cities and we bring about God's kingdom. Because our God has already won, God won before creation had even begun, God is still winning. The Kingdom has come, will come, is coming; and we have work to do in it. Frightening work, that will drive us into our own wilderness, to meet a God who is not entirely safe.

It is an uncomfortable and dangerous thing to be a prophet. Often prophetic words are met with anger, resistance, or outright violence. What a prophet must say is not easy, and neither is the response required of God's people. God asks much from us. God asks us to say "yes" as Mary said yes. God is asking us to build the Kingdom, here, now, and into the future.

Are we brave enough to say yes?

Reflection in three parts

A late lectionary meditation. I avoided this last week, the gospel reading was one I have never felt a connection with and honestly I was looking forward to Sunday with a sort of relieved dread. Endings are like that, bitter and sweet. I left the gospel to our priest, but I did let her know I had no love for this pericope, she enjoys a challenge. We'll get to that but first:

Jeremiah 31:27-34

31:27 The days are surely coming, says the LORD, when I will sow the house of Israel and the house of Judah with the seed of humans and the seed of animals. 28 And just as I have watched over them to pluck up and break down, to overthrow, destroy, and bring evil, so I will watch over them to build and to plant, says the LORD. 29 In those days they shall no longer say: "The parents have eaten sour grapes, and the children's teeth are set on edge." 30 But all shall die for their own sins; the teeth of everyone who eats sour grapes shall be set on edge. 31 The days are surely coming, says the LORD, when I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel and the house of Judah. 32 It will not be like the covenant that I made with their ancestors when I took them by the hand to bring them out of the land of Egypt--a covenant that they broke, though I was their husband, says the LORD. 33 But this is the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel after those days, says the LORD: I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people. 34 No longer shall they teach one another, or say to each other, "Know the LORD," for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest, says the LORD; for I will forgive their iniquity, and remember their sin no more.

"The parents have eaten sour grapes, and the children's teeth are set on edge." For years now the people of my church and many others have lived this lesson. Our parents, in some cases our grandparents or great grandparents ate the sour grapes. They made mistakes, horrible mistakes and for years we, their children, have paid for those mistakes.

Every church has its conflicts and its scandals. If the news from the Roman Catholic church has taught us anything it is this: that hiding a problem always makes it worse. And that is what happened in this place. But hiding an issue does not solve it, nor wash the taste of it from our mouths. The seeds of bitterness, anger, betrayal, and hurt grow in such soil and indeed grew into vines bearing the most bitter of fruit. Many places, including my own beloved childhood parish still suffer beneath the shade of the thing that grew from such bitter seeds.

No more bitterness for me. No more will I taste the fruit of those who came before. There is a new covenant and I will no longer live as if it were never made. The truth of it is written on my heart and in my mind. I feel the infinitely light weight of it in my hands. The taste is still there in my mouth, my teeth still ache with it. But here now in the morning, without the teary eyes and the begging words whispering "please stay," I look back and realize that every lesson every word we read was telling us: it is right. Jeremiah spoke to me.

2 Timothy 3:14-4:5

3:14 But as for you, continue in what you have learned and firmly believed, knowing from whom you learned it, 15 and how from childhood you have known the sacred writings that are able to instruct you for salvation through faith in Christ Jesus. 16 All scripture is inspired by God and is useful for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness, 17 so that everyone who belongs to God may be proficient, equipped for every good work. 1 In the presence of God and of Christ Jesus, who is to judge the living and the dead, and in view of his appearing and his kingdom, I solemnly urge you: 2 proclaim the message; be persistent whether the time is favorable or unfavorable; convince, rebuke, and encourage, with the utmost patience in teaching. 3 For the time is coming when people will not put up with sound doctrine, but having itching ears, they will accumulate for themselves teachers to suit their own desires, 4 and will turn away from listening to the truth and wander away to myths. 5 As for you, always be sober, endure suffering, do the work of an evangelist, carry out your ministry fully.

The Epistle spoke to another. I sat listening to the lesson, once, twice and felt the shivering truth of those words. Echoing encouragement still so full of power and urgency after two thousand years. We do not change, we only shift. The core remains, unwilling, deaf, afraid. Perhaps the hardest for me are those two words: endure suffering. I want desperately to protect us all, to keep all those I love safe. I understand the urgent mission of a bodhisattva as I listen to Timothy. Forgo paradise to relieve the suffering of this broken world? Yes, yes, a thousand times yes. And yet I can't, not really. I can only offer myself and hope, somehow that is enough. And that brings us to the gospel. The gospel that speaks to us all, even me.

Luke 18:1-8

18:1 Then Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart. 2 He said, "In a certain city there was a judge who neither feared God nor had respect for people. 3 In that city there was a widow who kept coming to him and saying, 'Grant me justice against my opponent.' 4 For a while he refused; but later he said to himself, 'Though I have no fear of God and no respect for anyone, 5 yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will grant her justice, so that she may not wear me out by continually coming.'" 6 And the Lord said, "Listen to what the unjust judge says. 7 And will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night? Will he delay long in helping them? 8 I tell you, he will quickly grant justice to them. And yet, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?"

I've always had a less than happy relationship with this reading. It implies at first blush that if we just nag God enough we can get whatever it is we demand. And of course that implies that if our lives are a mess, if we're poor or ill or sorrowful it's because we just didn't nag enough. God is a bastard, God is an unjust judge.

Our priest promised to turn this one around, I was dubious. How many rabbis have I read recently and yet I found myself surprised? She turned the story over. God took the role of an old woman, and we become the unjust judge. We become the hard of heart who finally listen only because our God does not give up, our God does not give in, or God will not be silenced. And if that is true then we must become like the window, more like God.

We must cease to judge and weigh by the world's measure. We must become the downtrodden and oppressed, we must never cease to speak for the voiceless. We must be as God, offering ourselves over and over and over again in the face of injustice and indifference. We must wear the bastards down. In the end it is all we have to offer, ourselves to one another. Judge and widow, together doing what one alone could not. Softening our hearts, throwing away the scales, pursuing relentlessly, speaking without fear, relieving the suffering of our shared hearts.

The lessons were alive this week, they breathed out of the pages of scripture. They spoke with fresh young voices, old as time. May all with ears to hear, listen.

Breaking the rules

Luke 17:11-19

17:11 On the way to Jerusalem Jesus was going through the region between Samaria and Galilee. 12 As he entered a village, ten lepers approached him. Keeping their distance, 13 they called out, saying, "Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!" 14 When he saw them, he said to them, "Go and show yourselves to the priests." And as they went, they were made clean.
15 Then one of them, when he saw that he was healed, turned back, praising God with a loud voice. 16 He prostrated himself at Jesus' feet and thanked him. And he was a Samaritan. 17 Then Jesus asked, "Were not ten made clean? But the other nine, where are they? 18 Was none of them found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?" 19 Then he said to him, "Get up and go on your way; your faith has made you well."

For two weeks now we've had lessons that use the word “Master.” For two weeks we've heard stories about commands. Remember, last week Jesus told us about the slave who works all day in the field and returns to cook and serve his master? This was the model of discipleship Jesus was holding up for us. Obedience, as slaves to their Master. “Master”, it's not a word we use much anymore. Certainly I've never had to call anyone Master, I'm guessing none of us have ever been in that position. But Jesus is admonishing us to be such servants: doing God's work faithfully and without thought of reward. This week we hear more about obedience, but this week we get a twist. Then Jesus asked, "Were not ten made clean? But the other nine, where are they? Was none of them found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?” Ten lepers were healed. Nine lepers were obedient, only the one who disobeyed Jesus' command earns praise. Only one is commended for his faith.

These two stories come one right after the next, but they seem so contradictory! Last week the good slave did his work because it was his duty, he obeyed his Master without question. Last week Jesus told us that God expects obedience. Today disobedience is rewarded, how can we find meaning in both?

Let's start at the beginning. Jesus and his disciples are traveling through the border country between Galilee and Samaria, a no-man's land where he comes upon a group of ten lepers. We might say lepers were doubly cursed. They suffered from painful, sometimes serious even fatal conditions. And on top of their physical suffering they were social outcasts. Forced to live only with other lepers far from their families and friends. They were literally untouchable. These are the people Jesus meets in the border lands. They are obedient to the law, they stay far away, they don't try to approach. But they call out from a distance: "Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!" They speak to Jesus as slaves to their owner. But what they ask him for is mercy. Despite all their suffering they haven't given up on God, or on this traveling preacher. Jesus doesn't go to them and touch them, he does not praise them for their faith as we see in other stories. Instead he gives them an order. "Go and show yourselves to the priests."

And they go! If I were to ask a Doctor to treat my illness and he just told me to go home I'd be a little upset. I don't think I'd trust that by the time I got there, I'd feel better. But that's exactly what these lepers do, they are obedient. And doing so they are obeying not just Jesus but the law, because for a leper to be healed is not enough, to be restored to their communities they must go to the temple and be inspected and declared clean by a priest.

Nine of the lepers do exactly that. We don't know what happens to them but we can assume they are inspected by the priest, declared clean, and go home. If this were a healing story that would be the end of it. But this isn't a story about healing, this is a story about obedience and gratitude. This is a story about the tenth leper. Then one of them, when he saw that he was healed, turned back, praising God with a loud voice. One leper as he went along that journey of obedience had a realization. He saw, in the midst of his suffering and isolation that he was indeed blessed. He was so overwhelmed with joy, with gratitude that he turned around and went back to that no-man's land where he'd started. Obedience was interrupted by gratitude.

He disobeyed Jesus and he ignored the rules and requirements of the society around him. Yet he is praised. Why the difference? The contrast, the tension, between obedience and disobedience was important to the author of Luke. The author, and Jesus, understood the need for tension. Jesus understood that often there isn't only one way of things, that the answers often aren't as simple as saying that obedience is good, and disobedience is sin.

What does this tell us? How are we to understand these contradictions? Jesus does expect obedience. But Jesus, and God, don't want us to be blindly obedient. God isn't looking for slaves who simply do their duty. God wants our joy and our exuberant gratitude. The tenth leper threw off rules and expectations to rush back to Jesus. He thanked him, not just a little but exuberantly. He was so overcome with gratitude that he threw himself down into the dirt at Jesus' feet and he thanked him. I can imagine the tears of joy and relief streaming down his cheeks, his voice shaking with laughter. "Thank you, Lord! Thank you!"

The Samaritan leper chose the better part, he chose gratitude and response to God over obedience. He chose to respond to God and to Jesus with his first instinct, his honest response. Not caring about propriety or the way things "should be done." He was still unclean! He was still an outcast, anyone but Jesus would have been horrified to be touched by such a man. But he goes back anyway and he throws himself to the ground. It isn't the way society views him that matters, nor dotting all his i's and crossing all his t's. What matters is his trusting, exuberant response to his very personal experience with God.

It's easy for us to become like those nine other lepers, isn't it? When things go wrong we call out to God "help me!" We ask for God to heal our disease, or mend our broken heart, or fix a relationship, or help us with money problems, or get us through a test at school, there's always some burden in our lives that we feel we can't bear. Sometimes there are lots of them. We can feel a lot like those lepers, sick, lonely, hopeless. We're quick to ask, or even demand help. But how good are we at recognizing the blessings in our lives? When things go right do we go on our way, hardly even noticing our Master, never thinking to thank him?

What if we were like the tenth leper? He was healed but according to the law he was still unclean. And he was something else that no one could change, he was a Samaritan. A stranger, and not a popular one. Whenever the New Testament authors need someone to stand for the outsider it is always a Samaritan. They were social outsiders within Israel. No matter what happened this man would never be accepted by his neighbors; he would always be looked down upon; he would always have trouble finding a job; he would never be welcomed as a neighbor and friend. Like us his life wasn't made easy or perfect by his encounter with Jesus. We might have expected him to have the least reason to celebrate. But he responded with exuberant gratitude anyway.

What if we didn't do the expected thing either when God came into our lives? What if we responded to God with exuberance, thankfulness, and wild abandon? What if we even ignored the rules sometimes? What would that look like?

The Episcopal church has had some rough times lately. We're all over the newspapers, I'm sure you've seen the stories. There are lots of people who don't think we're proper Christians, who don't want to associate with us. Even other Anglicans around the world seem set on casting us out, separating themselves from us. And what about us, here, at Grace? We've had our share of hard times. We might feel justified in saying "it's just not fair." We've certainly got enough to worry about: money, the number of people sitting in the pews, and very uncertain times ahead. And in our own lives how many “curses” are we suffering from? There is sickness, job loss, and death in our families. We have a lot of things to be worried about, a lot of reasons to feel anxious. It might be hard to feel very grateful.

But God hasn't abandoned us, we're not in this alone. We Episcopalians, and we here at Grace, and each of us who have come here for worship today, are blessed. Just like those ten lepers we've been given amazing blessings by a God who loves us and is present with us always. That's what Jesus' name means: God with us. Are we like those nine lepers who do the sensible thing, follow all the expected behaviors, and then go on with their lives? Or can we be like the tenth leper? Can we open our eyes to the healing and the blessing already present with us? And when we realize that God is with us, that God has actually never left us, can we throw ourselves at the feet of our Savior, laughing and crying with joy?

It isn't the proper thing to do, surely. It might shock some people. What if when a visitor walked in that door they saw us smiling! What if they heard us singing as loudly as we could! What if they found themselves surrounded by joy and thankfulness? They might look around and ask what we have to be so happy about. The pews are pretty empty, the budget doesn't look too good, the paint is a little old, the hangings are a little faded. And the news outside this place just gets worse.

Might those visitors ask why we weren't behaving the way the world expects, why we weren't worried and anxious? Wouldn't they want to know why we were so excited and joyful when things look pretty worrying? Of course they would! And we'd have an answer for them, wouldn't we? God is with us.

Sometimes we need to follow orders. Sometimes we need to be the good, hardworking, faithful servants. But just as important as that, is our willingness to give ourselves to God with such passion, such exuberance that words just aren't enough. Have you ever been so happy you couldn't sit still anymore, you just had to get up and dance? Or so filled with sorrow that kneeling to pray wasn't good enough and you lay down on the floor and wept? Or like that leper dancing down the road and praising God at the top of his lungs, even if it made him look a little crazy?

God wants us. God wants all of us, not just our minds, not just our duty. God doesn't just want us to come here every week because we feel we should. God wants us to come to Him to be refreshed, blessed, renewed! Nine lepers were obedient. But only one leper cast off all his other worries and burdens and gave himself over to God with his whole heart, and mind, and body. And for his trust, for his willingness to break with tradition, for his honest response Christ blessed him and truly made him well. He met God, and so can we.

What if we could find that same trust, that same faith, within ourselves? What if we as individuals, and as a parish, could come to this altar with our whole selves alive with joy and wonder and gratitude? What if we praised God for the blessings all around us, and truly trusted that he would make all things well? I can't promise that it would change the news in the papers, or make our lives perfect, but I can promise that we would be changed.

[quietly] "Get up and go on your way; your faith has made you well." Amen.

Lectionary Meditation: Too much is never enough

Lectionary for this week.

Luke 16:19-31
1 Timothy 6:6-19
Amos 6:1a, 4-7

If ever there were a set of lessons to make the wealthy squirm this would be it. So what are we to make of it, we aren't wealthy after all. I don't know about you but I don't lay around my house in silk robes eating and laughing and doing pretty much nothing all the time. But then again, I'm not exactly Lazarus am I? I wrote this on a rather nice little Apple MacBook, sitting on my comfy leather couch wearing warm cloths and with some snacks near to hand.

It gets me thinking about perspective. I doubt any of us would count ourselves as rich, but very few of us are truly poor, probably none of us taken by the real standards of the world. And yet we worry about money constantly it seems. That is exactly what we shouldn't be obsessed with. The letter to Timothy is timeless. Here, we have a group of Christians caught up in money concern. The author of this one could have been writing directly to Empty Church (and a great many other places I imagine).

Of course, there is great gain in godliness combined with contentment; for we brought nothing into the world, so that we can take nothing out of it; but if we have food and clothing, we will be content with these.

Wouldn't that be nice? If we could be content with having our basic needs met?

But those who want to be rich fall into temptation and are trapped by many senseless and harmful desires that plunge people into ruin and destruction. For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil, and in their eagerness to be rich some have wandered away from the faith and pierced themselves with many pains.

And yet far too often it is money that captures our hearts. Not just as individuals, though that is harmful enough, but as organizations. My sister tells a story she heard from her Irish history professor. It seemed Ireland came late to the concept of capitalism. For a long time in a small town (similar to where I live) there would be a pub every few blocks. They were little family affairs and they did something peculiar. They all got together and agreed on a fair price for a pint. What could their neighbors afford, and what would give them a decent living? The idea that they might compete with one another, or undercut prices to attract more customers was entirely foreign. Anyone who tried it, far from gaining new customers, found themselves a social outcast. Their customers would abandon them for attempting to hurt the other pubs. And so the little family pubs served their customers fair prices and made a comfortable (but certainly not extravagant) living.

Capitalism is changing the Irish neighborhoods. Big business has moved in and is slowly driving those little pubs out with its desire for more and more and more. Just enough to get by isn't enough anymore.

The church isn't immune, certainly. Money has been wielded as an almighty weapon in many a vestry meeting. All decisions for some of our vestry members come down to money. Will the action bring more in? How much will it cost? The activities that draw the most member support are fund raisers, the results of which are applauded loudly in service the next Sunday.

But as for you, man of God, shun all this; pursue righteousness, godliness, faith, love, endurance, gentleness. Fight the good fight of the faith; take hold of the eternal life, to which you were called...

The letter to Timothy is pretty clear. It isn't the fund raisers we are called to be about. We are told to pursue a number of things: righteousness, godliness, faith, love, endurance, gentleness, but money or wealth isn't mentioned even once. Not even a hint. In fact we are told to shun the pursuit of wealth. So why then do our churches and our lives get so caught up in the capitalist pursuit of more?

We are inundated with the message that we need more. Bigger, better, faster, softer. From our vehicles to our homes to our waistlines we have bought into the corporate message. More is more, and we need more. We are rich, exceedingly rich. And there are a great many Lazaruses in the world, too many. They live in overcrowded refuge camps in Africa, they suffer in the slums of Rio, they fall beneath the dictatorial heel of military regimes around the world.

If we are brave enough to let go our need for more the story doesn't have to end as our gospel lesson. If we can accept enough as true bounty, we can begin to look beyond our own wants and see the needs of those at our very gates. If we can learn to trust that we truly have enough, even more than enough, then we can share with those who truly have nothing. We can begin to fill that hole that cries for more with God, with prayer and contemplation and companionship and blessing. And as we do it will become an overflowing font, creating more than we could ever need.

We are blessed with abundance, and we are called to share that abundance, to remake a world of not enough, and too much. It is our work, it is our call, the question is: are we willing?Lectionary Meditation: Too much is never enough

Lectionary meditation & desert wandering

Lectionary for this week.

The lectionary today doesn't start well. No matter which reading you choose it is doom and anger. Humanity fails again and again. I have been thoroughly and utterly uninspired by these readings. There are little glimmers of course. God even changes his mind in one of them, a human being gets into a debate with God and he wins! That's good, yes?

Jeremiah's description of a desert blasted by God might have described a place in my journey a few days ago. But I'm no longer convinced its a desert at all that I stand in, or if it is that the desert is such a bad place. After all, it was the wilderness where so many of the prophets met God. Where so many of them went in preparation for their own ministry. (And yet we all seem to fear the spiritual desert so strongly.) When seen that way it stops being such a fearsome or frightening place.

For thus says the LORD: The whole land shall be a desolation; yet I will not make a full end. - Jeremiah 4:27

No, it doesn't sound good but there is always that caveat at the end with our God isn't there? No matter how dry, how alone I might feel there is always the promise that God is there ready for more. We all live in the hope of that promise for something more.

And the more of course crops up again in the Gospel:

Luke 15:8 "Or what woman having ten silver coins, if she loses one of them, does not light a lamp, sweep the house, and search carefully until she finds it?

9 When she has found it, she calls together her friends and neighbors, saying, 'Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin that I had lost.'

10 Just so, I tell you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents."

I love this image, of God as the frantic housewife. God who leaves no stone unturned searching for us (or remaking us once She has found us). God who rejoices when we are found, when the promise She offers is fulfilled. I can picture God down on her hands and knees in the dirt, fingers reaching back into the dark crevices of the universe searching for the little soul who has hidden itself away in fear and self loathing. There a glint of gold! And with a leap of joy She is out the door, little soul clasped in her hands, dancing and smiling and calling out our name.

I hid myself very well, preferring the darkest corner of God's house to being found and shaped and remade and sent out into the wilderness. But God kept at it, that's the amazing thing the one we can't get around. God kept after me long after someone else would have given up. And I could almost feel that leap of joy around me when at last I let myself be found. If the hills tremble at God's rage they dance in delight at His joy. If the mountains are shaken in his anger they quiver with ecstasy with his laughter.

I'm still waiting for the ecstasy to come back but the desert no longer looks so frightening, in fact its rather peaceful. Its preparation and safety and quiet and solitude. To think, I've been worrying and upset about this vast empty place and at the same time complaining to all and sundry that I can't get enough alone time. Yes Lord, I'm listening, I'm just a little slow sometimes.

(And yes, I do realize that here I am at the end of my meditation and no longer uninspired by the lessons, it always works out that way if I just buckle down and spend time with them.)

Lectionary meditation

Psalm 139:1-6, 13-18

1 O LORD, you have searched me and known me.

2 You know when I sit down and when I rise up; you discern my thoughts from far away.

3 You search out my path and my lying down, and are acquainted with all my ways.

4 Even before a word is on my tongue, O LORD, you know it completely.

5 You hem me in, behind and before, and lay your hand upon me.

6 Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is so high that I cannot attain it.

13 For it was you who formed my inward parts; you knit me together in my mother's womb.

14 I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; that I know very well.

15 My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth.

16 Your eyes beheld my unformed substance. In your book were written all the days that were formed for me, when none of them as yet existed.

17 How weighty to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them!

18 I try to count them--they are more than the sand; I come to the end--I am still with you.

The gospel just didn't speak to me on Tuesday when I read through the lectionary, neither did the other two readings. This doesn't happen often and when it does I usually wait for S's sermon on Sunday and just write a meditation/response on that, she always manages to trigger something for me. But on a whim I read the psalm for this week and immediately copied it into a blogger draft post. I had no idea what to do with it, but I knew I had to do something with it.

This psalm could sum up the ride I've been on.

O LORD, you have searched me and known me.

Is there any doubt? I can't seem to get away from this God. I have done a good job of hiding and hiding myself, but it doesn't work. God is always searching always discovering my latest hiding place. And always asking me that original question, that first hurt. "Where are you? Why are you hiding?" Why? What a question. Why wouldn't I?

Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is so high that I cannot attain it.
...
I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

I know what the psalmist means when he says God has hemmed him in and placed His hand upon him. God is inescapable, omnipresent. But that hand is not hard or oppressive, it is not something I fear. Because this is a psalm about wonder. The psalmist might have been a doctor, a scientist so exquisitely he describes the body and creation. As the words roll off my tongue my mind feels the lift and fall of my chest, the steady wonderous beat of my heart. Flex your hand, feel the thousands of tiny precise movements to fold and extend those fingers. Twist your wrist and an organic machine so complicated we still cannot duplicate it moves with flawless, effortless precision.

The microcosm of creation in a sheath of muscle and tendon and bone. And the macrocosm. There is a movie, I've forgotten which, where a human fetus hangs superimposed on a field of stars, and nebulae. A human forms before our eyes amid the vast fire of creation.

My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth.

Creation is infinitely large, impossibly grand and yet the act of our own creation and formation is as infinitely improbable. The same atoms that make up the stars knit together, in us, for something utterly different and equally divine.

The psalmist knew, all those years ago, something we still struggle with today. God is beyond our comprehension. God is not trapped in the sky, does not sit far off in heaven. God is woven through creation itself. God is present in the nuclear furnace of a star, and the womb where we grew and became. God is present in our breath, the flow of blood through our veins. Miles of blood vessels, thousands of miles of nerves, millions of muscle fibers. Creation's infinity captured within us, and down to our last atom, infused with the presence of God.

Of course hiding did not work. Of course God found me:

I come to the end--I am still with you.

There is no ending. As the universe in its infinity curves back upon itself so there is no way to outrun God who is present in it. We can find no end where there is no God, nor beginning. There is no place to hide and that is fearful, and wonderful knowledge. Amen.

Storm prayer

Gracious and loving God, we give thank for frustration and bitterness. For times when we do not understand. Our lives are tossed on rough waters, the rocks of disappointment and fear loom large. We fear failure, we fear loss, we fear separation from one another and from You. Remind us, Heavenly Mother/Eternal Father that our lives belong to you. Give us the strength and the courage to release them into your care and to sink deep into your presence when trouble appears. For without you we are rudderless and lost. We pray in your name, Gracious Father, Loving Mother, Creative Power, Inspired Word, Savior from before time, Name that cannot be Named, God. Amen.

Yoga

Lord in movement,
God in stillness.
Spirit touched
by trembling hands.
Hold a body in stillness,
and the mind follows
breathe into the vast
emptiness of Truth.
I resist the moment
filling time with loud
clamoring uselessness.
You call me back,
to stillness.

Prayer to the unknowable

Lord we thank you for questions and uncertainty. We who are small and finite struggle continuously to understand you who are infinite and undefinable. Help us to revel in the struggle, to cherish our insights and glimpses of Truth and to always know that you are ever greater than we can dare imagine. In your infinite goodness protect and keep us that we might always be at play in You. In your holy name we pray, Amen.

Sermon response 9/2/2007

Luke 14:1, 7-14 - 14:1 On one occasion when Jesus was going to the house of a leader of the Pharisees to eat a meal on the sabbath, they were watching him closely. 7 When he noticed how the guests chose the places of honor, he told them a parable. 8 "When you are invited by someone to a wedding banquet, do not sit down at the place of honor, in case someone more distinguished than you has been invited by your host; 9 and the host who invited both of you may come and say to you, 'Give this person your place,' and then in disgrace you would start to take the lowest place. 10 But when you are invited, go and sit down at the lowest place, so that when your host comes, he may say to you, 'Friend, move up higher'; then you will be honored in the presence of all who sit at the table with you. 11 For all who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted." 12 He said also to the one who had invited him, "When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors, in case they may invite you in return, and you would be repaid. 13 But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. 14 And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous."

What an odd lesson. The first part reads like a book on table manners. Very WASP, do the proper thing to save face, to look good. It just didn't seem like something Jesus would say. The mark of a good sermon is always a new way of seeing a familiar passage. From that sermon: hospitality is at the heart of it, if we look beyond the seemingly self serving words.

What does it mean to take a low place but to make room for another? Instead of thinking only of ourselves and grabbing that comfortable seat we pause, turn and take a less comfortable, less honored, seat to leave room for another. When we step onto a half filled subway car, do we race toward one of the free seats or we we grab a hand hold and stand, knowing that we are strong and young and someone who needs more "honor", who needs that seat, may come along.

Move over, make room. We're not good at it. We tend to think of ourselves first, others are an afterthought. We take that subway seat and then we grumble inside when we see an elderly woman enter at the next stop. We stand up and give her our seat but do we do it in our heart?

Hospitality is becoming the thing I care about most in the church. When it comes down to it there is nothing else quite so important as radical hospitality. When we get past the bloody politics, the fights over liturgy, over tradition, over whatever divides us that day, what really matters to me is that each of God's children is welcomed with the love of Christ. That each and every one sees love, acceptance, Christlight when they look into my eyes. That I see Christ in theirs and offer them service in His name. Not expecting anything in return. True love, true giving expects no thanks, no response. It does simply because it has no choice.

We leave that seat empty, hoping that a tired Christ will take it. We hug a friend, hoping only that a sorrowful Christ will be comforted. We offer a stranger a smile as we pass, hoping only that a lonely Christ will be touched. Hospitality. Move over, and hope Christ will sit down beside you on the softer cushion.

Now the harder part... Look, and see Christ when he does. Amen.

Mistakes

We all make mistakes. Lets admit that right now. I screw up. So do you, friend. We are human, mistakes are part of what define us. Small or large. We offend a coworker with an off-hand comment, we forget to mail the rent check, we back the car over a garden rake, we change a time honored tradition too suddenly at the new job, we loose our temper, we drop the hammer on our toe, we hurt someone we love.

The story tellers who gave us the ancient Hebrew scriptures understood. Humanity was ever flawed. Here's the relevant text:

2 Samuel 12:15-31 (NRSV)

Then Nathan went to his house.

The LORD struck the child that Uriah’s wife bore to David, and it became very ill. David therefore pleaded with God for the child; David fasted, and went in and lay all night on the ground. The elders of his house stood beside him, urging him to rise from the ground; but he would not, nor did he eat food with them. On the seventh day the child died. And the servants of David were afraid to tell him that the child was dead; for they said, “While the child was still alive, we spoke to him, and he did not listen to us; how then can we tell him the child is dead? He may do himself some harm.” But when David saw that his servants were whispering together, he perceived that the child was dead; and David said to his servants, “Is the child dead?” They said, “He is dead.”

Then David rose from the ground, washed, anointed himself, and changed his clothes. He went into the house of the LORD, and worshiped; he then went to his own house; and when he asked, they set food before him and he ate. Then his servants said to him, “What is this thing that you have done? You fasted and wept for the child while it was alive; but when the child died, you rose and ate food.” He said, “While the child was still alive, I fasted and wept; for I said, ‘Who knows? The LORD may be gracious to me, and the child may live.’ But now he is dead; why should I fast? Can I bring him back again? I shall go to him, but he will not return to me.”

Then David consoled his wife Bathsheba, and went to her, and lay with her; and she bore a son, and he named him Solomon. The LORD loved him, and sent a message by the prophet Nathan; so he named him Jedidiah, because of the LORD.

David is perhaps one of the most real heroes in the Bible. He is brave, generous, and loving. But he is also greedy, selfish, and blind. He screws up. He has an affair with another man's wife and to cover it up he has him killed. And perhaps for awhile he even thought he'd gotten away with it. Whew, God wasn't looking.

But the storytellers knew that our mistakes catch up with us. They eat at us. We need consequences, and David finds consequences. Horrible ones, his son pays the price for his father's sins and dies. This isn't a discussion about whether or not that is a just punishment, and that wasn't the point of the story anyway so look beyond it. David mourns, weeps, deprives himself. But when the cost is paid he does not go back to wallowing in grief and self pity. He stands up and goes on with life.

I think of all the New Testament stories where Jesus declares the sins of a bystander forgiven. They do as David does and go on with their lives. They shed their dis-ease, their sin, their sorrow, their guilt and move on. It seems so simple for them, so easy.

Its not often so simple for us, is it? When we make a mistake we hide from it, we hope no one will notice, when they do we deny it. Perhaps we even deny it to ourselves. We convince ourselves we were right and all those other people, they're wrong. Or we allow the guilt to consume us, we wail and gnash our teeth and torture ourselves with our failing. We shame ourselves publicly and loudly. We apologize and make grand speeches. We sit for days, months, even years in the ashes and sack-cloth of our mourning.

We have something to learn from David, and from those that Jesus made clean. We must face our mistakes, and their consequences. But we must not live in them. We must stand up, wash our faces, and move on with our lives. To do less is to reject the gift of grace offered by a loving God. That isn't to say we shouldn't learn from our mistakes. Perhaps the next time we find ourselves in a similar situation we will remember the taste of ash and act differently.

What are you carrying in your heart? What heavy, sharp things nick you and draw blood? Let them go dear ones. Drop the heavy heart-stones where you stand. You can be no help and no comfort while your arms are full of them, while your eyes are blinded by tears. David not only moved on with his own life he allowed, enabled, and helped those around him move on with theirs.

I once was silent when I should have spoken, I once was passive when I should have fought. The consequences were paid by another. But when I found myself again at the same fork in the road I turned away from the easy path and I walked on with life into risk. I spoke up, I took a chance. The old heavy burden was set down at that fork. Like David I rose from my mourning, and self-doubt, and stepped out trusting that "the Lord loved [me]."

The Lord bless you and keep you;
The Lord make his face shine upon you and be gracious to you;
The Lord turn his face to you and give you peace.

Numbers 6:24-26

Name of God

The dunes have no name for ___.
Gulls cry only "I."
Pine and birch breath centuries
and form the shape of ___.
What are words to constrain,
when all creation reflects?
Loon cry is truth.
There is no lie
in the death cry of the rabbit.
There is no interpretation
in the pounding waves.
The storm can be only as it is,
and ___ follow it,
and ___ proceed it.
Silent voice that needs no Name.

Prayer for help

We thank you Father that we do not walk alone. We thank you for the councilors and guides who help us to discern your will. For those who support us with their guidance, their love, their prayers, or their listening hearts. For the small reminders throughout the hard fought days and dark nights of our lives that we are never truly alone. For you are with us Lord, and you have surrounded us with helpers. For their care, we thank you. For our own ability to accept the help and advice they offer, we pray. Amen.

Northern Cathedral

Towering cathedral pine,
raftered with clouds,
floored with mica and gypsum
shining reflection spilled
as fallen stars.

Gulls sing accompaniment
to the organ, rolling waves.
A symphony of praise
in light and wind.

No need here for name
or holy Word;
for hallowed spaces
or the learned,
debating Godhead.

Creation speaks with
tongue unbridled by
the fearful minds of men.

Morning Prayer

We praise you for the morning, for the sun that burns away the fog. We praise you for morning, for the dew that frosts long waving stems and catches the first light in a thousand shimmering drops. We praise you for the morning, for the sound of birdsong and water or for the rumble of traffic and voices around us. We praise you for morning, for a new creation in which we are invited to take part. We praise you for morning, for midday, and for evening. Turn our hearts toward you and incline our ears to hear you in the myriad voices of creation. Amen.

Prayer for separation in trouble

Holy One we ask your blessing on those we love who are far from us. Those in danger or peril, those in distress or pain. We long to be with them to comfort and protect them. In our absence wrap them in your loving embrace that they might know your presence. For You are always with them, and they are never far from You. Be their protection and their strength we beseech you. Be their comfort and help. Remind them of our love for them with each breath they draw. And keep them in the knowledge of Your steadfast love. For the sake of Him who lived and died and rose again for us. Amen.

The Dollmaker (movie review)

I'm afraid this one will be rather harder to find, folks. It is currently out of print (I looked) and available only used in VHS format. Hopefully its due to hit DVD soon because its worth having on hand.

S loaned me The Dollmaker back when she loaned me Priest. I've only just now gotten around to watching it (bad me, I know). This one was definitely outside my normal movie watching fare. For those not familiar with the story the setting is 1940s Detroit and Appalachia. You could watch this movie five minutes at a time and find something to discuss with a group in each segment. Everything from poverty, to hope, feminism to faith, bigotry, pride, creativity, gift, sorrow and blessing.

I really don't want to spoil the story for anyone, its one that should be seen without prior discussion, but I do want to try to delicately address some of the things covered. If you haven't watched the movie and don't want any of it spoiled stop now. Otherwise read on.

First I need to give credit to Jane Fonda. I'm not personally fond of her as a person but I must give her credit as an actress. From the opening scene I forgot who she was, Jane disappeared entirely into Gertie. That's a skill not many actors possess. Second, I have a pet peeve that often destroys the enjoyment of "period piece" movies. When characters become obvious modern plants in another time. Yes all those independent free thinking women with backbone and education dropped into the 1400s really annoy me. Gertie Nevel could have easily been such a woman. A liberated modern product of the feminist movement dropped into 1940s Appalachia. But she wasn't.

Gertie is no weakling but she conforms to the society around her. She obeys her husband (outwardly at least), she is scandalized by women who fall outside the "norms", she remains true to her setting. And yet she is the strong driving force behind her family. She remains rooted in her principles despite violent transplant.

At its simplest its a story about "things." The way they tie us down and enslave us to a system and a life we only thought we wanted. It could have been left that way but it would have been unsatisfying and easily forgotten if it had. "Things" are bad, people and dreams are good. Being poor but rural is romantic and wonderful. It would have left the viewer hungry for something real and feeling slightly cheated.

Fortunately, it didn't get left that way. In the end it wasn't about things at all. It was about what ties us down. The things, the people, the expectations, the unspoken words, the culture. I watched the most important moment of the film with tears in my eyes, happy tears. I understood why, in a moment that I had dreaded, Gertie was not just happy but jubilant. I understood because I have come to the same freeing realization.

Liberating is the word S used I think, and it was. In a way, it was gospel in an image. Freedom, true freedom. Sacrifice that is no sacrifice and the discovery of true self. Gertie and I have discovered the ability to let go of everything but the people we love. Something that had been so important to her she paid what was surely an outrageous amount to ensure it followed her to Detroit. Something so much a part of her that even heart shattering mourning could not pry her heart away from it. In the end, the release of it became the release of everything she had lost and everything she had denied herself.

Gertie could have kept that treasure, she could have "finished" it. But she would have lost something far more precious in the process. That's about all I can say without giving away unforgivable spoilers. If you've watched the movie and want to discuss it start a thread in the comments or send me an email, I'd love to discuss it further.

Highly recommended. And yet, without car chases and explosions I fear this gem will remain unavailable.

Seeing

Creator, you give us light that we might see You in moments others miss. Catch our hearts up, so joined to you that all our looking might be seeking. That all our hearing my be listening for your voice. That behind our eyes we might see you in each moment, captured within our soul. Light through colored panes, or emerald leaves. Let us see you when we seek, and let us who find you in a mote of dust, the bloom of a rose, or light pooling into impossibility, bring You to the world that does not see and has forgotten how to seek. That all who are hungry for wonder might be fed. Amen.

Lectionary meditation (8/19/2007)

Readings for this week.

Luke 12:49-56
If this were a real sermon this week it would have a title "In which Jesus breaks the 11th commandment: Preachers shall not loose their cool." Yeah, Jesus truly looses his temper. He has had enough.

Up until now its all been pretty good if you're hanging around Jesus. He has been healing the sick and the possessed, he has been preaching great sermons about new ways of living together and loving one another. He's charismatic and exciting; a really good distraction from all the tedious stuff of life like fishing and farming, baking bread and washing up. But we all know the unwritten 11th commandment. Rabis, preachers, priests, pastors, whatever we call them; they aren't allowed to loose their temper! Its just not seemly, it makes people uncomfortable. Aren't they called to be better than that? Don't our processes weed out the "unstable" people? Aren't these people trained?

Yeah, Jesus looses it. He's not sitting quietly here talking about lambs and shepherds. He's yelling about fire and strife and violence! He has resorted to name calling! How does he expect to keep followers if he looses his temper like that? Doesn't he know its just not done?

Jesus wouldn't have been a popular Episcopal priest, he didn't belong to all the "proper" social organizations, he didn't have a stable family, he dissed the way things had always been done, he mouthed off to authority figures. But worst of all, he wasn't afraid to make people uncomfortable. And he made a special effort to point out the differences between God's way and the way humans do things. Most of our expectations, aren't the same as God's. God isn't interested in making nice, or playing games, or putting a good face on things. God is interested in the truth. God doesn't lie to save someone's feelings or stay silent because what He needs to say might upset the status quo. And neither does Jesus. He has a message to preach, things to say, and he is going to say them. The world around him was full of injustice and hypocrisy. It was overflowing with suffering. Just as it is today.

I would love to stand up here and talk about how wonderful this parish is, what a good job we are doing. I would love to pat you each on the back and watch you smile back at me and have us all leave feeling just a little (or maybe a lot) better about ourselves. But I can't. Because Jesus is talking to all of us, today, and we need to listen. Jesus is loosing his temper with all of us, today. We need to listen.

Does the gospel today make you a little uncomfortable? It should. If it doesn't you probably weren't listening. Jesus says:

I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled! I have a baptism with which to be baptized, and what stress I am under until it is completed! Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division!

Those aren't comforting words. They are not meant to be. I used to squirm a bit when I heard this lesson read in church. It just didn't make sense to me. Why would the same guy who was preaching forgiveness of sins and a glorious new reality with God be talking about division and burning? Where was the Jesus I knew from Sunday school, cradling a little lamb in his arms and smiling sweetly?

Jesus had been preaching and teaching for a while by now. He had quite the reputation and he was drawing crowds. But he knew something about those people who came to see him. He knew that a lot of them were there just to see him perform a "trick." Some of them just wanted to be able to tell their neighbors they'd heard him speak. Some were there to find things to argue with him about. Some of them wanted to hear what "the other side" was talking about so they could form their counter arguments.

Were they really listening? Are we? Do we really hear the Word of God? Or do we hear what we want to hear? Does the Word penetrate our hearts and sink into the center of our being and change us? Or do we just come here on Sunday morning out of habit; or because we like the hymns; or for the friends we've made; or heaven forbid, the preacher.

Jesus lost his temper with his audience, and with us, because he understood human nature. He did come to kindle a fire on this earth; one lit by the Holy Spirit. A new way of life, a new path for God's people, all people. But Jesus looked out across the crowds and into our faces. Did he see blank faces staring back, or hostile eyes? Crossed arms, frowns, boredom? Did he see open listening hearts, or ones made of stone? He saw us. He knew that we would fall short, and he lost his temper.

He knew that we would divide ourselves in his name. It isn't God who splits churches and families, it is mankind. In the name of Jesus, or of being right, we create division. My parents got up and walked out of this place with half the congregation and a former priest. Many of you knew those people, some of you, like me, grew up with them (or watched them grow up). Did God split this parish, or did we? Did God split my family, or did we? God unites but mankind divides, and we have the gall to do it in God's name. Jesus knew that. He saw the schisms and the arguments. He saw into the stubbornness of human hearts and knew that we would grasp greedily at his words and claim them as our own. He knew our hearts would turn hard and obstinate and that we would prefer to turn our backs on one another before we admitted that our way might not be the only way.

Jesus saw all that in the faces spread out before him and he lost his temper. He understood God's frustration. Jesus knew today's reading from Isaiah:

(Isaiah 5:1) ... My beloved had a vineyard on a very fertile hill. 2 He dug it and cleared it of stones, and planted it with choice vines; he built a watchtower in the midst of it, and hewed out a wine vat in it; he expected it to yield grapes, but it yielded wild grapes. [...] 4 What more was there to do for my vineyard that I have not done in it? When I expected it to yield grapes, why did it yield wild grapes?

God did everything possible to set humanity up for success. Not once, but over and over again. And each time when God asked us to live as his people we said "no." We, humanity, turned and went our own way. Instead of sowing peace in the world, we created war. Instead of loving and caring for one another we abuse and exploit our fellow men and women. We spit in God's face, we rejected God's offer of a good life together with God. Is it any wonder that God looses his temper?

Isaiah 5: 5 And now I will tell you what I will do to my vineyard. I will remove its hedge, and it shall be devoured; I will break down its wall, and it shall be trampled down. 6 I will make it a waste; it shall not be pruned or hoed, and it shall be overgrown with briers and thorns; I will also command the clouds that they rain no rain upon it. [...] he expected justice, but saw bloodshed; righteousness, but heard a cry!

We are continually blind to our awesome, divine potential. God knows it, Jesus sees it. And yes, they both loose their tempers. We are a stubborn people, a frustrating people.

When it comes to the things that we think really concern us we pay plenty of attention. I can tell you its going to rain by the way the leaves on certain trees turn over. I can tell its time to leave the freeway and take the back way home if traffic is backed up at a certain spot. I can tell a friend is angry at me just by the sound she makes walking across the floor. We can all do those things, right? You can probably think of a hundred more little signs you pick up on around you.

So why can't we seem to see the kingdom of God that is all around us? Why do we, year after year, produce only bitterness? Why do we continue to refuse God's offer of a new way of being? God is making the offer, its been good since time began.

We knock down the vineyard walls with our refusal to accept the garden God has prepared for us. We divide families and communities with our stubborn insistence that we must be right. And we continue year after year after year to ignore God's call to be something different in the world. The Hebrews in Isaiah's time fell short, and in Jesus' time, and so do we. Is it any wonder Jesus raised his voice? Is it any wonder he shouted? I'm sure there were people in the crowd that day who turned to one another and said "who does he think he is?" Or who got up and walked away while he was still speaking. God is speaking to us in the reading's today. Whether we want to hear it or not.

The truth is, we don't want to hear the "good news," because it is not easy. We want the miracles and the cheer leading sermons. We want to listen to a charismatic leader pat us on the back and tell us how good we are. We want Jesus to smile gently as he holds a little lamb in his arms. We don't want to hear him as he condemns our divisive behavior, our deaf ears, and our blind eyes.

Sinead O'Connor sings a song based on the Isaiah reading today. I'd like you to listen to it:

"If You had a Vineyard" - Sinead Oconnor

What more could I have done in it
That I did not do in it
Why when I ask it for sweetness
It brings only bitterness
...
And sadness will come
To those who call evil good
And good evil who present
Darkness as light
And light as darkness
Who present as sweetness
Only the things which are bitterness

The readings today are hard, they make us uncomfortable when what we probably wanted was to come here and escape for a little bit. But God isn't offering us escape, and he isn't offering us a chance to be right. He is offering us a place in a new kingdom. One built not on the ways of the world, but on His ways. Are we willing to listen?

Thanksgiving for healing begun

Bright Lord of morning, we thank you for the tears that wash away misunderstanding and silence. We thank you for anger that breaks through into the open and brings with it hurts where they may be tended and cared for. We thank you for forgiveness and second chances, Gracious One. You kindle communication where there is silence, you kindle understanding where there is confusion. You bring about reconciliation and the beginning of healing. Let the healing once begun never waver. Let those brought together by your healing Spirit continue forward in your presence, a love and support for one another on their journey. In the name of the One God, Creator, Redeemer, and Sanctifier. Amen.

Lectionary Meditation (8/10/2007)

Lectionary for August 12th.

Some good stuff this week, I could easily use the gospel but since I'm not preaching I get to occasionally use what speaks to me, not to someone else. Here's the text from Hebrews for this week:

Hebrews 11:1 Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. 2 Indeed, by faith our ancestors received approval. 3 By faith we understand that the worlds were prepared by the word of God, so that what is seen was made from things that are not visible. [...] 8 By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to set out for a place that he was to receive as an inheritance; and he set out, not knowing where he was going. 9 By faith he stayed for a time in the land he had been promised, as in a foreign land, living in tents, as did Isaac and Jacob, who were heirs with him of the same promise. 10 For he looked forward to the city that has foundations, whose architect and builder is God. 11 By faith he received power of procreation, even though he was too old--and Sarah herself was barren--because he considered him faithful who had promised. 12 Therefore from one person, and this one as good as dead, descendants were born, "as many as the stars of heaven and as the innumerable grains of sand by the seashore."

Faith and journey. Exactly the right thing for me at the moment, no? What is discernment but setting out on a journey without knowing the destination or the road. Discernment is much like Abraham, it requires saying "Yes." Abraham could have said no, he could have stayed in his own land, safe with his flocks and his family and remained just another wanderer. God did not force or coerce or trick him into his journey.

God offered, and Abraham said "Yes." That was all it took, saying yes, and God had a people. I can see myself in Abraham, safe and comfortable in my life. I'm younger, yes, but established and settled. I have a home, I've built a life that most would call comfortable and content. I have no reason to go haring off on some fool journey into the unknown.

But I said "yes." It took me awhile, but I suspect it took Abraham awhile as well. I will wander as well. Though I haven't moved yet, the stakes I had put down in this life have already been uprooted. There is no turning back. The land behind isn't home anymore and I do have faith that somewhere, out of sight in the distance is a new land. I don't know where my feet will be next year, where my head will find its pillow. In three years, four? Where then?

I'm no longer fresh out of college, wet behind the ears, young and eager. But God works in God's own time. God doesn't seem to care about how old we are or how set in our ways. God can use us, shape up, reform us if we let him. If we accept that change and step forward in trust.

There is the crux of it all, isn't it? Trust, and acceptance. And those two things lead us to the the first line of the reading from Luke. One little sentence that makes me smile:

Luke 12:32 "Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom."

How I wish there was some way, any way to make this congregation understand and feel those words. Do not be afraid. There is a sermon in there, an entire sermon in those four words. For me they speak as well. I have accepted, I am learning to trust. And greatest miracle? I am no longer afraid...

Breathing prayer

Reflected light, green tinged and thick
slips unseen around grey trunks
that blend, and bleed into a heavy sky.
We breath air thick with heat
stirring water droplets fine as thought.
Heavy, still, waiting for the storm
to break. Waiting for the crack and tear
of jagged thunder. Parched hands
turned up toward promise, beseeching
blessing.

Prayer for memory

Lord we thank you for memory and emotion. We thank you for the raw cutting edge of them, for the long, slow healing flow of them. We are ever grateful that you made us creatures of love and sorrow, laughter and tears. Help us to be open to what we truly feel, to be honest with ourselves and those around us. Teach us not to fear the truth of our emotions, or the memories that make us who we are. Give us wisdom to find you in both the happiness and in the sorrow; and to know that you walk with us always. Amen.

Prayer for travel

Lord of creation we pray for all those who travel today. Give them patience as they deal with delays. Give them grace to be a blessing to their fellow travelers, and to those who work to bring them to their destination safely. We pray for all pilots and those who drive buses, trucks, and taxis. Give them keen eyes, quick reflexes, and wise minds to bring their passengers safely to their destinations. Care for all your children who travel God, those who go with joy and those who travel only because they must. Let their journeys, taken for so many reasons, bring them always closer to you. That they may remember you at their journey's end and rejoice in your presence. Amen.

Prayer to the creator

Divine and loving God. You created us in your image and in the shape of your mind. Men and women you created us. Mother and Father you made us. You birthed us from the rich red clay of creation and breathed life into us beside the holy waters of time. Yet we too often loose sight of the beauty of you and the beauty you created in us. Remind us, remake us, wash us, hold us, heal us with your loving hands Oh Mother/Father God. Teach us to love and not to hate, to heal and not to destroy. For you are Creator always, and Destroyer never. Amen.

Lectionary Meditation (8/5/2007)

Lectionary for this week.

Hosea 11:1-11
11:1 When Israel was a child, I loved him, and out of Egypt I called my son.

2 The more I called them, the more they went from me; they kept sacrificing to the Baals, and offering incense to idols.

3 Yet it was I who taught Ephraim to walk, I took them up in my arms; but they did not know that I healed them.

4 I led them with cords of human kindness, with bands of love. I was to them like those who lift infants to their cheeks. I bent down to them and fed them.

5 They shall return to the land of Egypt, and Assyria shall be their king, because they have refused to return to me.

6 The sword rages in their cities, it consumes their oracle-priests, and devours because of their schemes.

7 My people are bent on turning away from me. To the Most High they call, but he does not raise them up at all.

8 How can I give you up, Ephraim? How can I hand you over, O Israel? How can I make you like Admah? How can I treat you like Zeboiim? My heart recoils within me; my compassion grows warm and tender.

9 I will not execute my fierce anger; I will not again destroy Ephraim; for I am God and no mortal, the Holy One in your midst, and I will not come in wrath.

10 They shall go after the LORD, who roars like a lion; when he roars, his children shall come trembling from the west.

11 They shall come trembling like birds from Egypt, and like doves from the land of Assyria; and I will return them to their homes, says the LORD.

Last week I had to work at my meditation, poking and prodding rather unenthusiastically. This week the text from Hosea leaped off the screen at me. I barely made it passed the end of the first verse before my eyes had filled with tears that welled up from a heart overflowing with love, joy, acceptance, and a complicated tangle of emotions I gently let be.

Last week I commented to my priest that I did not understand her love for Hosea. She preached exactly that and I found myself warming to the book, and understanding her fondness for it. Eternal love, endless forgiveness, a God who will always take us back. But my hackles still rose in annoyance at the treatment of women, so biblically stereotypical. Woman the wanton, woman the whore, and the long suffering husband. (When in my experience it is so often the other way around.) Here it was again, God male-male good; woman not God-woman not good. I was left with very mixed feelings about Hosea.

Then I read the above. Oh yes, the word "he" is used to describe God but it sounds out of place and awkward, it is out of tune among the symphony of words. The imagery here is overwhelmingly female. God is Mother in no uncertain terms. God who lifts her child in her arms. God who stands silhouetted in the bright light of the open door calling her children home. God who holds tight to the tiny fists of her children as they take their first bobbling steps, who dries their tears and kisses away the "owwies."

God whose love is so strong, so tender, so heartbreakingly real that she presses her cheek against ours, closes her eyes, and wraps us in her arms, smiling at the wonder of what she has created. God who will always forgive, always call us home, always stand in the open doorway. This is the shape of the God in whose image we were made. The tiny fragment of infinity that is Mother/Sister.

I have often chafed at the maleness of God in the bible. My intellect tells me that the bible was written by men, it was of course their stories and their understandings that made it onto paper. Knowing that doesn't mean my soul doesn't occasionally long for its own image and shape in the words. But every now and then a glimpse, a flash, of another side of the story peeks through. Perhaps veiled, covered in the dust of millennium and nearly lost, but there. A female face of God, a tiny clandestine gift from our ancient sisters. Perhaps whispered into the ear of a child by his mother, told over and over until he had made it his own and no longer remembered it as a woman's tale.

I read this piece and in my mind the image rose of a friend, cheek pressed gently against the forehead of the toddler in her arms. He sat in her lap, wrapped in love. Both their faces were wreathed in smiles. A young untarnished soul, and one heavy with many burdens, at peace together for a moment in that timeless embrace of a woman and a child. What better balm for my soul then to watch the eyes of both fill with peace? And now to read and know that God holds us just so, if we will only let her.

What greater comfort, what more perfect happiness? Hosea 11:1-11. This one I will treasure in my heart, and ponder it in the silence of my soul.

Breath of fire

Blessed One, breath within us
inhale and draw out our anger
and our hurt, exhale and breath
within us love and peace
to purify us
with the essence of You

Let our hearts from emptiness, fly
into the light of You,
through the shining radiance
of You, who whispered "live"
and a spark grew in darkness

Let your breath, that ignites
a river of stars to holy burning,
lift the flagging embers
of our lives and make them eternal
living fire, for You
and in You,
and through You

To make sacred

Reading back articles of another blog I've discovered (there are so many talented writers out there) I came upon an excerpt from the following book: The Last Week: A Day-by-Day Account of Jesus' Final Week in Jerusalem. It goes now on my long, long list of books to buy and read. (For every book I finish on this list another five get added, it is a lifetime project.) This excerpt in particular caught my attention. I read it once, twice and then sat thinking.

How, then, did people create, maintain, or restore good relations with a divine being? What visible acts could they do to reach an Invisible Being? Again, they could give a gift or share a meal. In sacrifice as gift, an offerer took a valuable animal or other foodstuff and gave it to God by having it burned on the altar... No doubt the smoke and smell rising upward symbolized the transition of the gift from earth to heaven, from human being to God. In sacrifice as meal, the animal was transferred to God by having its blood poured over the altar and was then returned to the offerer as divine food for a feast with God. In other words, the offerer did not so much invite God to a meal as God invited the offerer to a meal.

That understanding of sacrifice clarifies the etymology of the term. It derives from the Latin sacrum facer, "to make" (facer) "sacred" (sacrum). In a sacrifice the animal is made sacred and is given to God as a sacred gift or returned to the offerer as a sacred meal. That sense of sacrifice should never be confused with either suffering or substitution.

Its not the definition of sacrifice we are used to, not the one we expect. My priest talked about a "what if" game they played in seminary. What if Jesus was gay? What if Jesus was married? What if, what if, what if? How would that change your faith? Trivial things in the end, that make no difference to me. But what if sacrifice is not what we thought? What if it has nothing to do with suffering? What if it is not Christ substituting himself for our punishment? What if, instead he did something so radically different that the Church has shied away from it in fear for two thousand years?

What if Christ made humanity sacred? What does that mean, what does that change? Not just, saved, not just redeemed from our place in the dirt, but sacred. Holy, vessels worthy of God. What does that mean for us, what about our faith would that change? What about the way we treat one another and act in this world would change? What about the way we care for ourselves would change?

Prayer for reconciliation

God of unity you formed all of creation. You made stars and planets, plants and men all alike. We are more alike than we are different and yet we divide ourselves. We wound one another with word and action and we withhold repentance and forgiveness. Creator and Lover of mankind break down our pride and our stubborn wills. Remind us of all we have in common and put our differences into perspective for us. Bend our hearts to love. We pray to you for all relationships cracked or shattered, all trust abused and all who are estranged. In the name of the One who creates and loves. Amen.

Schism

One Spirit holding fast
watching human nature split
and divide like waves
against the sword sharp
prow of a proud ship.
Pride and anger knife through
the dream of a Kingdom
without war or pain.
I turn about, with tears
unshed behind my eyes
and a heart that hammers
for your word, and hold
my breath.
Bread and wine, meat and drink
restorers of my soul
in You who cannot be divided.
I stretch out my arms against
the hard gentle surface
of your table and close
my eyes against the war beat
of the world.
I breath You in and out,
life that will not leave me
and lay weary head down
against your breast.
Forehead and thoughts
hot with will pressed against
the cool of You.
At my back, before my face
the waves pound fury
the sea roars destruction.
I lean harder, deeper
into You and know,
know beyond surety.
I am not afraid.

Sheep among.... tigers?

Be sheep among wolves. Our priest reminded some of us of Christ's command before our last vestry meeting. I have always assumed the command meant to be meek or perhaps quiet and careful. To stick together as a flock and of course to trust our Shepard. After all, sheep are quiet animals, and not terribly bright. They rely on numbers and the protection of their human caretaker to keep them safe from predators.

We here in 21st century America have very little experience with sheep or wolves, and if we did it wouldn't be very helpful. American wolves are shy and vanishing. There has never been a recorded fatal wolf attack in the US, not in its entire history. But the wolves of Europe and the Middle East were something else entirely. They were large and aggressive, living close to man and hunting him as casually as they hunted his livestock. They and man were it could be said, at war. Man won in the end but there were casualties and the fear of wolves that war instilled is still part of our consciousness, stamped into even the brains of those who have no cause to fear.

It is these aggressive, dangerous wolves the gospel writers would have been familiar with. Wolves who lurked quietly in the dark and pulled down cattle, and sheep, and children. Wolves with blood on their teeth and murder in their eyes. And yet, amid the danger and destruction the Christ enjoins his followers to not be like the hunters who used club and bow and sword but like the helpless sheep.

Why? It doesn't make much sense. Why send those you love into the maw of something that will consume them?

Today I came across something that at first seemed utterly unrelated. An amazing story and video of a tiger attack. I watched the furious attack, the raw power. Here was death incarnate, not evil, but so incredibly powerful and dangerous that even a man sitting on the neck of a full grown elephant was not safe. But it was the story of the moments after this video was taken that are important. Those next moments meant life or death for two men knocked from the relative safety of their mount. Injured and vulnerable they would have made easy prey for a tiger. But for the elephant who went as a lamb among wolves.

The elephant, Joymala, held down the tiger with one enormous foot. She could have crushed it, elephants stomp attackers into the ground. Their great feet are deadly weapons. Instead she held the infuriated animal to the ground, restraining it with her trunk. It must have roared with fury, it must have lashed out with teeth and claws. But she did not kill it and at last it escaped and fled.

I will perhaps tell people in the future to be as an elephant among tigers. For we are certainly powerful, we can hurt one another or destroy one another as easily as that elephant could have destroyed the tiger. We posses destructive weapons: anger, indignation, pride, vicious words, scheming plots, lies, and sharp intellect. We can crush the life and joy from another soul with frightening ease. We can sap the energy our of those around us. We can bring down a career or a life as easily as the angry tiger leaped through empty air to her victim.

We can snap the neck of a sheep with our teeth, growling from the darkness, hunting from the shadows. We can create fear.

But that is not what we are called to. We are not to meet anger and violence with blind passivity. We are not to keep our mouths shut and allow anger and evil and love of power to corrupt and harm. Neither are we to fight fire with fire. Neither are we to attempt to destroy evil with evil. We are called not to use our power for destruction. Not to hurt or destroy. Instead let us use our strength with all of the restraint of an elephant, and the faith of a lamb.

Lectionary meditation (7/29/2007)

Lectionary 7/29/2007
What a strange and seemingly disjointed set of readings. In the OT we are now firmly rooted in the fiery damnation of the prophets, and in a rather jarring shift we hear instructions for prayer from the NT. I sat and stared at the readings a bit, looking for the thread that made sense. I picked at the gospel, it really is a good meaty story. I poked nervously at the prophet (I figured the advice about wizards and dragons goes double for prophets.) Finally I caught at a little shining thread, gave a pull and felt the lessons fall into place around me. It is the psalm that ties the readings together for me this week.

Psalm 85
5 Will you be angry with us forever? Will you prolong your anger to all generations?

6 Will you not revive us again, so that your people may rejoice in you?

7 Show us your steadfast love, O LORD, and grant us your salvation.

8 Let me hear what God the LORD will speak, for he will speak peace to his people, to his faithful, to those who turn to him in their hearts.

9 Surely his salvation is at hand for those who fear him, that his glory may dwell in our land.

10 Steadfast love and faithfulness will meet; righteousness and peace will kiss each other.

The psalmist could be directly responding to the damnation by the prophet. The psalm calls out to God: please don't leave us. For it is there that the true desert lies, in separation and absence from God. And the gospel reading, the prayer Jesus teaches his disciples is both our plea, and God's graceful answer to the psalmist's lament.

And there is the important thing. It is an answer. Not an intrusion, God does not force himself or his grace upon us. But when we ask, as the psalmist does, for grace it comes. To do that we must first acknowledge the prophet. We must own our isolation from God, we must accept that we brought about the desert. And we must go searching for God again, we must go asking as the Psalmist did, as the disciples did. (Notice that we say the confession before the Lord's Prayer in Episcopal services.)

Perhaps the lessons aren't so disjoint this week, but they are hard. To reach the joy and gifts of the gospel we must walk with humble listening hearts through the desert of our own creation.

This would be an interesting sermon to write, and no, not an easy one. It does however speak to me and I believe it speaks to this parish. We need to first hear the prophet, then we must become the psalmist and the disciples. Impossible? Perhaps, but what a promise at the end:

Luke 11:13 If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!"

I can speak for no one else Lord, but I speak for myself: Come, Holy Spirit. Cleanse me and guide me, inspire and fire me. Enfold me in your presence and water the desert of my life with the grace and love of my Holy One.

Clearing

The hill stands bare
and naked, wrapped
in the sharp dying scent
of vanished pine.
Scoured ground,
cleaned with diesel churning
power. Pale
white stumps, ghosts.
The grass remembers,
shade and cool.
Wind among the needles,
sighing. Cracked,
by engine roar and shouts
of men. Wrapped
in the sharp scent
of vanished pine.

Prayer for rebirth

Breath of heaven,
surround and infuse me,
fill me and overwhelm me.
Fire of creation,
anoint and send me,
strengthen and guide me.
That I might rise,
like a phoenix
from the fires of this world.

Prayer

Judge of mankind,
we sorrow at our sins,
we despair at our brokenness.

Raise us up,
and remake us,
a new creation.

Perfected in your love,
washed in forgiveness,
held in your presence.

Now, and forever, Lord. Amen.

Silent embrace

There are places in this world that are 'thin.' Where what we can see and hear and feel with our limited human senses weaves itself though something deeper. Such places tend to be held sacred. Perhaps they began that way, a place where the universe was simply thinner and more fluid and that brought seekers who named them 'sacred.' Or perhaps they were worn thin by use, by thousands of questing feet, a million seeking hearts, hundreds of hungry souls. I stood in such a place, before ancient stones that rang like bells at the touch of the last rays of daylight. There at their feet the ground hummed with energy outside any the world contains. A place of otherness that has drawn us to it across the millennia.

Places not so obvious can be just as powerful. I wonder about my own church, perhaps it is the nearness of other there that makes it so easily warped and corrupted. Perhaps it is a lack of understanding of the power we dwell in there that creates anger, strife, jealous possessiveness.

I have stood at the heart of our own holy place more than once and felt the heartbeat of God, felt suddenly the thinness of "reality" around me. As holy, divine, infinite intruded on the mundane.

Today I stood at the altar, fingers sliding ribbons into place in a familiar book, mind wandering along frustrated pathways. I lay my hands against the smooth linen, and closed my eyes. The world fell away in a slow shower, stretched and diminished until the street sounds became dream and unreality. Silence, deeper than an ocean, vast and endless wrapped me up, folding around me. I heard a beat low and deep, pressure in my ears, vibration in my bone. The heartbeat of the world, the breath of divinity, the endless rhythm of creation.

I could have stood for all time, rooted within eternity, singing in silent unison with the heartbeat of stars and mountains. I had stepped outside of time, grown thin. Breath called me home, the steady rise and fall of my chest separating itself from the deep rhythmic beat. I opened my eyes to the unchanged/new moment, my ears still full of eternity. I moved slowly, touching forehead, chest, shoulder, shoulder, heart; sealing the beat within. I finished dressing the altar in silence and bowed at last, low and silent, still hearing the low thrumming beat of creation deep within my bones.

They say peace...

...They dress the wounds of my poor people
As though they're nothing
Saying "peace, peace"
When there's no peace

Now can a bride forget her jewels?
Or a maid her ornaments?
Yet my people forgotten me
Days without number
Days without number
And in their want
Oh in there want
And in their want
Who'll dress their wounds?
Who'll dress their wounds? - "Something Beautiful"

God sings those words in Sinead O'Connor's new song "Something Beautiful." This song is so utterly packed with theology. It begins with tender praise, a plea for an offering to be accepted. It slips gently into confession and unworthiness. And then it turns about and offers these last plaintive words. The words of a loving God, a spurned lover, lamenting for the beloved.

It seems every day a different part of this song speaks to my soul. Today I think of peace. How often do we indeed extend a hand and say the word without meaning? A friend once asked me how someone could serve with us at the altar and a few minutes later be whispering and plotting. They say peace, but there's no peace. We do indeed forget God. We turn away, full of our own pride and confident that we are right. Only our own will becomes important, only the knowledge that we know best. And then we invariably wound.

I am no saint, I too am far too prone to turn my face away from my God and forge my own path. But I wonder, for those who have become a hard unmoving wall, who strike out from the shadows, who whisper and conspire all the while saying "peace," who will dress their wounds? They drive away, they divide and splinter. They conspire against a priest, or they drop bombs on civilians and 'insurgents' alike. In the name of right. They 'hate the sin, but love the sinner.' They claim Truth and power for themselves to the exclusion of all else.

We have the capacity to make something beautiful. It seems to me that we are only truly and fully happy, only at peace, when we are doing just that. When we create something of beauty, when we nurse the seed of love and glory within our hearts into full flower. When we fulfill the promise God placed in us at our creation. A promise of beauty and love.

So why then do we wound? Why do we call out false peace? Why do we forget the One in whom we must live and move and have our being? Here in a little church in a small city, or in a stately white house, or the fields of Iraq, or the gold encrusted palaces of Rome, or in the fist of a thousand Bible wielding pulpits. They say peace, when there's no peace.